


Of Stranger Shadow

by orphan_account



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Black Mage Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers Spoilers, OOC, Post-Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers, WoL is in a lot of pain and isnt having a great time, maybe who knows, misrepresentation of how thaumaturgy actually works, no beta we die like men, thats it thats the fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 05:43:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20719061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Your hands curled tightly around the gem, its sharp, jagged edges biting into your palms. They expected you to take on the next Lightwarden but you knew it was an impossible task. Your spells were harder to employ and control while it ate at the Lightwarden's Aether that had been taken into your own.Your magics refused your heed as it tackled a bigger threat, and the threat wasyou.





	Of Stranger Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> this seemed like a postable rando draft i had lying around idk

You held the Gem of Shatotto gently between your hands as you sat awake, unable to sleep despite the late hour and stillness of the world outside of the pendants. The magic in the item resonated with your Aether, your magic and tempered it in some way you could not without. A part of you felt weak sometimes, the reliance on a crystal for your very arsenal feeling like an Achilles heel.

Your black magic had always quarreled with Hydaelyn's blessing, seemingly agitated at the light dwelling within you. But it was a tolerable irritation. Although it made honing your most destructive magics at times was troublesome, even painful at its worst - but it was a necessary evil, if not worth it in the way your magics curled to your command in a destructive wave of force. You relished every minute of it, and would hardly give it up for any minor strain it inflicted upon your form.

But that painful ache in your very core at the end of battle was nothing in comparison to the trembling your body was brought by the corroding light that invaded your very Aether, warring against your own. Your magics were still able to be tamed but their use left you feeling miserable, harrowing against your moral coil. And that had only been in taking the first Lightwardens light into yourself.

Now you felt ill and weak in a way you hadn't since before you came to Ul'dah. Your last few nights, despite being bade to sleep and rest by your fellow Scions after facing Titania, had been sleepless and tenuous affairs. You had hid the initial effects rather well, but taking Titania's anther had all but sent your magics in a frenzy against yourself. Your eyes were bloodshot, your movement weak and very balance wavering at any moment of inattention.

You would be no more deadly than a newborn aldgoat in a moment of peril. You were in no state to fight.

It was _pathetic._

Your hands curled tightly around the gem, its sharp, jagged edges biting into your palms. They expected you to take on the next Lightwarden but you knew it was an impossible task. Your spells were harder to employ and control while it ate at the Lightwarden's Aether that had been taken into your own. It refused your heed as it tackled a bigger threat, and the threat was _you_.

The precarious balance you had with Hydaelyn's blessing and your magic had been thrown into complete disarray, and the effects were becoming difficult to wave off. Difficult to hide.

You would have to tell them before they attempted to set off for Rak'tika to seek the next Lightwarden, despite the knowledge you would most likely be disappointing the Exarch's high aspirations for you. You exhaled, relaxing your grip on the Gem of Shatotto, trying to quell the anxiety that rose at the thought.

A part of you missed not having so much responsibility, not being the Warrior of Light - a part of you longed for the days of being all but a fledgling adventurer. But the larger part of you refused to stand idle as people suffered, when you could do something about it. To do something with the power you held. To help people.

You collapsed back into the bed you sat upon, ignoring the ache of protest your body gave with the sharp movement. The blank expanse of the ceiling gazed back at you, as you considered your options. As you tried to develop some sort of explanation to tell the other Scions. To tell the Exarch.

Soon enough, too soon, the bustle of the waking world began to creep through the open window. Your eyes ached, and your body felt like lead.

You didn't move until much later.

* * *

You eventually made your way to the Crystallarium at the Exarch's summons. Your heart felt like a caged bird, trying to escape from your chest. You were nervous. Ashamed.

Any attempt at communicating your condition was lost when Emet-selch entered the room, his very presence demanding attention. Any talk of fighting the next Lightwarden was disregarded as the air became filled with tension and baleful glances. He seemed amused at the attention, if not slightly exasperated.

And then he stepped closer, prowled forth like the predator you knew he surely was - being an Ascian - and you felt his _darkness. _A bleeding, turbulent void against your senses that you hadn't felt in previous exchanges, and it felt like salve to your cannibalistic Aether.

An embarrassing noise escaped your lips, and felt your knees buckle at the rush of sheer relief. Like you could breathe again after being caught in a wildfire, smoke clogging your lungs and eyes. Your eyes burned, despite such an external force.

You hadn't realized how much it _hurt_ until your Aether slowed its ravenous war.

There were hands on your shoulders, concerned voices nearly shouting at your sudden lapse. You could barely register anything but _relief_ until Thancred pulled you away from Emet-Selch, saying something accusatory.

You refused.

Your hands clawed onto Thancred's chest, magic flowing through them and generating heat. Thancred didn't react quickly enough, hissing in pain as he all but shoved you away. Your knees scraped against the floors of the Crystal Tower, but it was negligible to the festering wound that was your soul.

Anything else but returning into the cloak of that sweet, cloying darkness was lost to you. Even the hurt, confused look on Thancred's face. You don't remember how you got back to such a proximity with the Ascian, but didn't care. You didn't care that you were all but curled up beneath his stature. You were defenseless in this position. At his mercy.

You didn't care.

_It hurts, Hydaelyn. _You remember professing during your sleepless nights. Pleading endlessly, _Please make it stop_.

But she did not answer.

And here you were, relishing in the relief given to you by the ones she had sworn you against.

"My, my." Emet-selch's gaze was calculating, thoughtful. "Isn't _that_ unexpected."


End file.
